Moments Denied
by lishanicole
Summary: A collection of missing scenes between Damon and Elena that complete the picture of their developing relationship. Begins immediately following "A Few Good Men" as Elena reacts to the events of the episode. Of course, Damon has to stop by to discuss.


_Working Title: Moments Denied (I may change this...) _This is part one of... probably three? It takes place immediately following A Few Good Men. I felt like we needed more of Elena's reaction of the events of the episode, as well as the fallout of her phone call with Isobel. Of course, Damon needs to stop by, too...

* * *

_Dear Diary, _

_Tonight I spoke to my birth mother for the first time - but it didn't go the way I imagined it would. I need to write all this down but I'm not even sure where to start... I just wish I could stop crying. _

It was so frustrating - writing in her diary was supposed to help her feel better. It was a coping strategy, a way to work through painful things by getting them down onto paper and out of her head. It had always worked before, but not tonight.

It had been only half an hour since her birth mother had hung up on her without a word. Just thirty minutes, but to Elena it felt like much longer.

At first she'd been too shocked to even react properly. After the call had disconnected, there had been a stretch of time when Elena had felt like she was in suspended animation. She'd changed into her PJ's and wandered into the bathroom to brush her teeth. It wasn't until she was staring at her own miserable reflection in the bathroom mirror that the night's events really caught up with her.

Once the tears began, she couldn't stop them and Elena had retreated to her bedroom, crawled under the blankets and bawled like a child. The reality of being rejected had caused a pain that settled deep in her chest so heavily that it physically _hurt_. She felt like she'd been crying for _hours_.

This night reminded her of the most painful moments of her life, though there had been only few until recently. Like when her dog had to be put to sleep when she was eight years old. Or that day in middle school when she'd learned that Matt had kissed Angela Weber after school two days before.

It hurt like waking up in the hospital and learning that she'd survived the accident, but both her parents were gone.

It had taken a long time for her to calm down, but her tears had almost dried up now, leaving her eyes feeling irritated and dry. She couldn't bring herself to get out of bed.

She should have been _grateful. _At least Isobel was alive instead of dead, like her parents. She had not been drained and discarded like so many of others. How many hikers, campers and runaways fell victim to a vampire, never to return home? She wasn't sure she could handle knowing how many innocent people Damon - or Stefan - had killed. It was too much to think about.

She'd been livid, at first. She'd blamed Damon. Elena had already lost her parents; it had hurt to lose Isobel, even though she hadn't actually known her. She had been dismayed and relieved to discover that her birth mother was alive.

_Well, not __**alive**__. _

No, not really. Elena's concept of _alive_ clearly needed to be redefined.

_She was undead. Like Stefan. __Like Damon, who turned her._

Of course it _had _to be Damon who was responsible. Somehow it _always_ connected back to Damon. At first, Elena had truly believed that Damon lived his entire existence only for himself; that he did whatever he wanted with no regard for the consequences. He could hurt the people in his path so casually, without the slightest hesitation. It was like nobody else even figured into his universe.

She wanted to hate him.

He could be the world's biggest ass, but she had to admit that Damon was more than that.

He was rarely unguarded but there had been a handful of moments when Elena could see a hint of what hid beneath the surface. The funny thing was that it wasn't when he was being charming. She'd figured out pretty quickly that Damon was actually at his most unpredictable and dangerous when he appeared to be the height of civility. With Damon, politeness was a warning sign that things were about to go terribly wrong.

Rather, the rare, sometimes frightening, and serious moments revealed the most. During that stolen day and night in Georgia and that intense conversation when she promised to help him rescue Katherine from the tomb, Elena believed she had seen a glimpse of the real Damon Salvatore.

Based on those experiences, there were a few things she knew about him for almost certain.

One was that he wouldn't lie to her. He was brilliant at twisting the facts of a story to suit his purpose. He would willingly ridicule, intimidate, threaten and omit the most important details - whichever the situation called for - but never actually lie. Or at least, not to her. He was comfortable lying to Stefan and pretty much anyone else. Admittedly, it was an odd code of honor, but still a code nonetheless.

Second, Damon would not compel her. He'd had the opportunity during their trip to Georgia. Elena had been completely vulnerable without her vervain and he'd chosen not to use his power to make her more "agreeable," though that would have been much easier than reasoning with her. She had asked him if she could trust him, she'd put her faith in him, and he'd kept his promise to her. More than that, she had to admit she'd felt _safe_ with him during their time together and she couldn't forget that.

Lastly, Damon was learning to trust other people. It wasn't easy for him. He didn't do it often. But he _wanted_ to

Elena still wasn't sure if _she_ trusted _him_, but something inside her wanted to, as well, which made the truth that he was responsible for Isobel's fate even more hurtful.

_God, Damon, why did you do it?_

She thought about calling Stefan and telling him about the phone call to Isobel. She'd recount the conversation had ended and Stefan – he was _so_ good to her – would rush over to be there for her. He would listen to her feelings and soothe her as she cried. He tried so hard to protect her, but Elena knew that Stefan couldn't make this pain better. She needed to work through this on her own.

Her mother, Isobel Flemming, was a vampire - and wanted nothing to do with Elena, her _human _daughter.

Undead or not, Elena couldn't quite grasp that own mother didn't want to talk to her. It seemed impossible. Talking to Isobel for the first time could have been one of the happiest moments in her life. Instead, she couldn't think of it without starting to cry.

_She doesn't __want __me. _

And the tears came back _again_.

_That's why she gave me up. She never did._

After all that had happened in the last year - losing her Mom and Dad and then watching Jeremy fall apart, meeting Stefan, learning the truth about vampires and discovering that she was adopted - Elena wasn't sure she could handle anything else. She just wasn't _strong enough_.

_I can't do this anymore._

Maybe it was time to give up on writing. The more she tried to get her thoughts on paper, the more impossible it was to control her emotions and by this point Elena was _very_ tired of crying.

The last thing she wanted to have to do was try to explain her current state to Jenna or Jeremy, so she rolled to the side and buried her face in her pillow to smother the sounds of her sobs. Her diary slid down the blanket and dropped to her bedroom floor, forgotten.

* * *

From his perch outside the window, Damon had seen enough.

There the girl was, curled up atop the pillows in the center of her bed, looking all innocent and tragic. No wonder his overly sentimental brother protected her so desperately. Her aura was pure vulnerability.

After that first initial glance, no fool would mistake _Elena _for _her_. This girl _wasn't_ Katherine. Elena was what _she_ might have been if the penchant for cruelty hadn't been so deeply ingrained. Manipulation had been a way of life for Katherine; the purpose her own amusement. Elena was all innocence and compassion; she was so much _softer _than Katherine.

_Katherine had never been pure. But she could make you believe that she was, for a while._

From across the room, the steady, regular sound Elena's heart beating and the thick scent of her blood were taunting him. Damon had wondered from the first moment he'd met her how Elena would taste. How many times had he imagined the delicate skin over her pulse yielding easily under his lips, hot blood coursing down his throat?

For Damon, her pull was _irresistible_.

It was a _very _good thing he'd had over a century to perfect his self control. He'd made the decision not to attempt to feed on Elena. Not just yet, anyway. There would be time for that. She wasn't actually ingesting vervain – Stefan wasn't that stupid – just wearing it to make her invulnerable to his particular charms.

_Like I'd ever compel __her__. _

It would be a much sweeter victory when she came to him all on her own.

Still, he'd neglected to feed tonight before coming here; a foolish risk. He'd come straight from killing the teacher, that idiot. He couldn't be held responsible for that debacle. The suicidal fool had clearly come to the mansion looking to die.

Self denial could only work for so long; he must have been miserable about Isobel's betrayal.

_Really, it would have been wrong not to oblige him. _

Still, he hoped Stefan would fail to share that bit of information with their girlfriend.

_That might be inconvenient. Elena probably won't appreciate the fact I killed Mommy's husband._

Lost in her own distress, Elena still had yet to notice his presence. She'd been oblivious when he'd entered her bedroom and silently latched the window behind him.

He'd been observing her for thirteen minutes now and she was still as clueless as when he'd first let himself in. Truly, the girl had no sense of self preservation: never paying attention to her surroundings, inviting in all the _wrong_ people. She was lucky she'd lived this long, considering the monsters she kept as company.

All too true considering Stefan was her self-appointed protector. He'd spent so long denying his nature that he was practically as weak as a human. He was _useless_ in a fight; did he actually believe he could protect her? Especially _this_ girl, who seemed to draw dangerous creatures to her like moths to a flame.

_Ridiculous._

It wasn't until he cleared his throat unnecessarily, a sound so noticeable that even the least observant human couldn't fail to hear it, that she finally glanced up and saw him watching her.

Shock silenced her crying and Elena immediately flushed. From anger or from embarrassment, he didn't know and it didn't matter. She was a wreck: dark hair tangled, wet eyes red rimmed and swollen, damp cheeks tracked with tears. He'd rarely seen her so disheveled. She was so unmistakably _human _in this moment; it should have disgusted him.

Damon had a great wealth of experience with women, both human and otherwise. He enjoyed them enthusiastically, occasionally found them entertaining, but rarely did he actually _like_ them.

They _never _preoccupied him.

_Except, of course, little Elena. _

He would have taken quick advantage of any other human girl in such a state – emotional distress made for particularly effortless prey – but damned if he didn't feel the unmistakable stirrings of sympathy.

_For fucks sake, Damon. She's just another girl. _

Or she should have been_._

Humans were useful for two things: fucking and feeding. Beyond those two things, well, they quickly outlived their usefulness and lucky for Damon they were also easily dispatched.

_Fragile, mortal little things._

Except Elena. He had to admit: she was _different. _She made him _weak_ and had him acting like a fool. He hadn't survived all these years by needlessly putting himself in a position of vulnerability. Instead of actively seeking her out, he should have stayed the hell away from her, but Damon was discovering that he craved her similar to the way he craved power and human blood.

_Compulsively. _

Elena had noticed that Damon had been observing her too intensely for too long and she was starting to become uncomfortable. Her heart rate quickened and the blood pooled heavily under her skin; cheeks flushed deliciously as her blush deepened. If only she knew how long he'd actually been standing there.

Her vulnerability was delicious. She was weak and delicate in her misery but it didn't entice the predator in Damon as it should have; instead it aroused desire in him.

She was _fucking_ _radiant. _

And he _wanted_ her.

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Hate it? Love it? Should I continue? Reviews = Love, people. All constructive comments are welcome.


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